


A Moment of Clarity

by marinablack99



Series: Moments: A Pydia Collection [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banshee Lydia Martin, F/M, Stolen Moments, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:10:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinablack99/pseuds/marinablack99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is only one person who can help Lydia Martin control her powers... Part of the "Moments" One-shot series. *Rated M for safety* Featuring Pydia!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment of Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFN.net: 9/1/14

The grass was cool and moist with early morning dew. Lydia knelt, her legs tucked beneath her as she peered at the heavy gravestone in front of her. How had an entire year passed since Allison Argent died at the hands of the Oni? A heavy stone angel stood over the grave; it appeared as if she were weeping as the first drops of rain sluiced down the marble. Swiping at the tears that dripped down her own cheeks, Lydia sensed him instantly. "Are you stalking me again, Peter?" She pushed herself up from the grass, standing quicker than was prudent. Her vision swam.

Peter was there in an instant to steady her. His face was molded into a mask of concern. "You are not the only one who has lost someone you love, sweetheart." Peter retorted. The Hale family vault was mostly ceremonial these days, since the majority of his family had been burned to ash. The first settlers in Beacon Hills had been Hales and they protected this town. People used to bring flowers and offerings, leaving them at the foot of the vault. It had been overtaken by weeds and ivy now after years of neglect. Peter still came by to pay his respects but it really only served as a reminder of his family's tragic fate. This grave, however, was kept pristine. Peter had never had anything in particular against Allison…it was simply the fact that she was an Argent and sought to eradicate him and his family. His cobalt eyes swept over Lydia. Her skin was ice cold at his touch; without another thought he dragged off his coat and wrapped it around her. "What are you doing out here at this hour?"

The hazy grey sunlight was just starting to peek over the horizon, illuminating the heavy cloud cover. Rain dripped down her face, mingling with her hot tears. "I couldn't sleep," Lydia replied defiantly. "I decided to take a walk and…I ended up here. I think I'm drawn to the dead because of my powers."

"You aren't wearing any shoes…" Peter groused. She was wearing a lacy white dress that should have clashed with her milky white skin, but somehow it didn't. There were grass stains along the bottom. The sight of her so disheveled shook him to his core. She was pale and thin; he yearned to make it all better. "I could no longer call myself a gentleman if I left you out here in this state. Come on, I'll take you home—"

"I don't want to go home," Lydia interrupted. "My mother is away this weekend with her new boyfriend. It's too quiet there. It makes me want to scream!" Her eyes flashed with something akin to fear as she met his gaze.

Dragging a hand through his hair, which had gotten a bit shaggy over the last few weeks, he let out a sigh. "Fine, I won't take you home. I'll feel better if I know you've gotten some tea and a hot breakfast into you. Come on," Peter urged. He frowned at her hesitation. "What is the worst that could happen?"

"You could crazy murder me and dump my body in the lake? You could try and bite me again? You could get into my head and make me poison all of my friends. You—"

"Alright!" Peter thundered. "I am the villain of the story, Lydia. I am well aware, believe me." Gritting his teeth in frustration, he raised his hands plaintively, "I promise to be on my best behavior." He watched Lydia's expression change from one of uncertainty to incredulity. He took that as acquiescence and reached for her. Peter swept her into his arms without another word and strode back to his motorcycle. He placed her onto the bike and handed his helmet to her.

Lydia was still unsure… but the moment she was in Peter's arms, something felt wholly right. She said nothing as he carried her like a newly married man sweeping his new wife over the threshold. Accepting the helmet without argument she gently strapped it on. Peter sat down in front of her and she slipped her arms around his waist as the engine roared to life beneath them.

Peter felt warmth spread through his body as she wrapped herself around him. He was poised to tell her to hold on tight…but she already knew. Revving the engine just once, they took off toward town. He reveled in the feeling of her hands fisting in his shirt and the shapeliness of her body against his back. It took all of his strength not to think about the gorgeous woman behind him and focus on the road.

They sped along the avenues and through the town center. Lydia watched familiar landscape start to bleed into unfamiliar terrain. "Where are we going?" She asked sharply. There was no doubt in her mind that Peter heard her but he didn't answer. They kept going until they pulled off the main road and sped through a dirt path until a large house appeared before them. Peter pulled the bike into the garage and killed the engine. Lydia carefully pulled her helmet off, breathing in the soft scent of motor oil and cedar that filled the garage. "I thought you were going to take me to breakfast…"

"Without any shoes on?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "I offered you tea and a hot breakfast, both of which we can get here." He smirked. "Oh, I see…you think that I am some helpless mountain man who doesn't know his way around a kitchen. Well, Lydia, you are about to be very surprised." He shot her a look of defiance. "Follow me."

Peter led her into the house with very little fanfare. Lydia expected the place be dark and ashen, much like the former Hale house. She was pleasantly surprised. The garage led into a mudroom tiled in a mosaic pattern that flowed into an eat-in kitchen. The room was masculine at its very core with dark cherry cabinets, a slate grey tiled backsplash that perfectly accented the onyx countertops. Lydia slid her fingertips over the cool granite as she padded into the living room. The place screamed Peter at every turn. Heavy leather furniture and dark hardwood floors were softened by a red oriental rug that looked to be very expensive. He must have purchased this house before his money was stolen and used to fund a supernatural deadpool.

A smirk slid over Peter's features as Lydia explored his home. He liked how comfortable she was. While she explored, he filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove to heat. Lydia plopped down on the couch and helped herself to a chenille throw that he had tossed there. She looked natural sitting in the den with the rain pelting at the window behind her. The whistling of the kettle dragged him out of his thoughts. Pouring the water into two mugs, he let the tea steep for a minute. Once it was ready, he carried the mug in to her and handed it over, "Drink this. It'll warm you up."

Lydia was lost in thought when Peter offered her the piping hot cup of tea. It smelled delicious and she was warmer already just thinking about it. Wrapping her hands around the mug, she let out a soft sigh of contentment. "Thanks…" She inhaled the scent of it deeply, taking strength from the steam that curled from the hot liquid. "How did you know I take my tea black?"

"I had a hunch." Peter replied as he settled in the chair across from her. He took a tentative sip from his mug before he broached the silence between them. "Do you want to talk about it?" Lydia was gorgeous, vibrant, and strong. Many thought that she was infallible due to her confidence and ability to put on a front but Peter saw beneath the surface. She was crumbling. She was drawn and there was a dark purple stain of exhaustion beneath her eyes. It was clear to him that she hadn't been sleeping well.

Silence hung between them for a moment. Lydia took a sip of her tea to fortify herself, "There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine." It sounded like a lie, even to her. Before she could stop them, words began to tumble from her lips. "I worry about my power. I look at my grandmother and Meredith locked up in a psych ward and I keep thinking that maybe I belong there too." She let out a shaky breath, "I'm hearing voices more and more now. The minute I close my eyes all I can hear are screams and moans, begging me to help them, begging me to end their misery. I can't block them out. I can't make them stop. I feel like I'm losing my mind…"

Concern speared through him as he watched tears drip down the end of Lydia's nose. He stood and offered her a tissue. "You aren't going mad, Lydia, your power is growing. It strengthens with age. You just turned eighteen which is an important milestone."

Lydia dabbed at her eyes. "I can't control it and I don't know anyone who can, Peter. Every Banshee on that list I found ended up at Eichen House! That doesn't bode well for me…" Holding the mug of tea tighter, she forced herself to take a swallow to calm her nerves.

"Lydia, I am not going to let anything happen to you!" Peter pressed, seating himself beside her.

A look of surprise crossed Lydia's features as she stared him down. She wasn't sure where that had come from…but she inherently believed him. There was something so genuine about his posture and the way that he spoke; Peter wouldn't let any harm come to her. Yet something still didn't compute, " _Why_?"

Peter chuckled softly, "I care about you, Lydia. You brought me back to life…" He didn't just mean the physical act she'd performed to raise him from the dead. Each and every encounter he'd ever had with Lydia strengthened him and made him believe in something more than power without principle. The way she argued with him, called him out on his bullshit, and begged for his life when Sheriff Stilinski had a gun pointed at his face. "I have some knowledge, meager though it may be. I have contacts and resources. I will find a way to help you."

Nibbling on her lower lip, Lydia furrowed her eyebrows. "I still don't understand why. I don't have anything to offer you in return, Peter."

"I don't want anything, Lydia. I just want to help…" He could see that she was struggling with that. Peter was not exactly known for his good will or a charitable nature. He didn't do anything that wouldn't benefit him in some way. This was truly no exception. Peter could not imagine his life without Lydia. He didn't want to see her descend into madness and die locked up in Eichen House. He wanted her to go to college, find her passion, and pursue it before she eventually married him and bore their children…he wanted a whole litter of them, too. These were things he could only picture with the amazing strawberry blonde angel sitting in front of him. "Maybe you don't believe me now but I'll prove it, Lydia. That's my solemn promise to you."

The tea Lydia was drinking was starting to grow cold but she felt much warmer now. Whether that was from the beverage or the man beside her promising her the world, she wasn't sure. As she slid her fingers through her hair, she pulled out a small, dry leaf. She realized suddenly that she'd walked seven miles from her house to the cemetery and she must look frightful. "Thank you, I appreciate that. Any help you can give me would be welcome." It wasn't as if she had any other options. "It was nice of you to bring me here but…I feel like I'm intruding. And I think a hot shower would do me a world of good."

"I have a shower, Lydia," Peter replied, "And I promised you breakfast. I am nothing if not a man of my word." He stood and helped her to her feet. "Follow me." Leading Lydia up the grand staircase, he led her into the master bedroom. "There's a shower or, if you prefer, a tub. I have plenty of towels. Take your time. I'll get started on breakfast and when you're ready, come down."

Lydia wasn't sure why she was even contemplating it…but one look at the massive marble and glass bathroom and she was sold. The dirt and blood that caked her feet needed to be washed off soon. Worst of all, the thought of going home to that silent house turned her stomach over. "Thanks…I won't be long." Lydia made sure that Peter left the room before closing the bathroom door and locking it for good measure. Padding to the mirror, she groaned. She really did look like a banshee right now—wild red hair was sticking out in every direction and she pulled several more leaves from the frizz, she'd never taken off her makeup last night and her mascara was smeared and left thick black trails down her cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Peeling off the dress she wore, she set it by the sink before turning the hot water on full blast.

The hot water scalded Lydia's skin so deliciously. It warmed her to her very core as she let it run all over her body. Pressing her hands against the cool white marble, she inhaled deeply as the water sluiced over the old scars that remained at her waist. Blood mingled with dirt, pouring down the drain and cleansing her. She took a moment to look at the few personal items in the shower. There was a shampoo and conditioner which looked both expensive and Italian; there was also soap. Sniffing it slightly, she felt a calm wash over her at the scent of sandalwood and musk. It smelled like Peter… lathering up the bar, she soaped up her body as she showered. By the time she was done, Lydia felt like a whole new person.

Wrapping herself up in a fluffy towel, Lydia padded to the sink. She borrowed Peter's brush and braided her damp hair. Lydia decided that donning the dress she was wearing before the shower negated getting clean. She poked her head out of the door to look for any sign of Peter before she tiptoed over to the dresser and rifled through it. It didn't take her long to come up with a pair of boxer shorts in a soft blue color and a white v-neck t-shirt. The smell of bacon hitting her caused her stomach to growl loudly. She couldn't remember the last time she had a hot meal. Lately she could hardly think about food and when she did eat, it was usually a few bites of takeout or something quick and cheap. Padding downstairs, Lydia was startled by the clang of a spatula hitting the floor when Peter turned to her.

There was nothing in the world more beautiful that Lydia Martin fresh from the shower and wearing his clothes. Peter felt such a powerful urge to kiss her that he had to physically hold himself back.

Lydia licked her lips, "I hope you don't mind I borrowed some clothes…" She blushed slightly at the expression on his face. "I can change—"

"No!" Peter snarled but then immediately softened, "No, I should have offered. Whatever is mine, is yours…" He was just surprised; very pleasantly surprised indeed. Quickly picking up the spatula he had dropped, he tossed it into the sink to be washed. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Sunny side up," Lydia replied with a smile. The table was all set with anything she could possibly want. There was toast, juice, bacon, and more to come. Plus, Peter must have run outside in the rain and cut a couple of fresh flowers from the meadow. Leaning in, she inhaled the sweet scent of the daisies and found herself smiling. "You went through an awful lot of trouble just for me, Peter."

"It's no trouble. You deserve all this and more." Peter put the finishing touches on breakfast by adding hash browns and two perfectly cooked eggs to her plate. He settled down beside her shortly thereafter. He sat and waited while Lydia took her first bite, smiling to himself as she dug in with gusto. "It's good then?"

Lydia nodded through a mouthful of perfectly crisp bacon. She took a sip of orange juice and smiled, "I am pretty sure this is the best meal I've eaten in a long time. It's simple and yet it tastes so good. You're quite the cook, Peter. You're right, I'd never have guessed." She finished half of what was on her plate before she was too full to continue. "I'm more than a passable cook myself. I'll have to return the favor sometime…" When her parents divorced, Lydia went to live with her mother. There were many things the former Mrs. Martin was good at…cooking was not one of them; she could burn water. And so the cooking had fallen to Lydia from a very young age. "You're going to have to give me the recipe for these hash browns though. I can't get enough!"

"Now  _that_  is a Hale family secret, love." Peter teased. Once she was a proper Hale, he'd share…but for now, he would keep that recipe close to his heart. "But all you need to do is ask and I'll make them for you whenever you want." He smiled. The exchange between them was comfortable and pleasant. It didn't feel awkward or strained. Lydia stood to clear the breakfast dishes and he caught her arm, "You're a guest."

"Yes, I am," Lydia replied curtly, "The least I can do is clean up since you opened your home, cooked a delightful breakfast, and rescued me from myself." Narrowing her eyes, she put her free hand on her hip, "Are you finished or not?"

Grumbling at Lydia's stubbornness, he nodded, "Yes, dearest." There was something so primal that flared up inside him at the sight of Lydia bustling around the kitchen. He leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as she stood on tiptoe to grab tupperware from the cabinet to place the leftovers in. Lydia seemed so at home here…it was better than anything he could've hoped for. It wasn't long at all before the whole kitchen was spotless. "Do you want some more tea?" He asked, meeting her in the middle of the kitchen.

"I'm fine, thanks…" Lydia licked her lips, gnawing on the bottom lip. "So, now that we're fed, why don't we sit down and you tell me everything you know about banshees?" Her stomach was twisted up in knots with worry. Peter must have sensed it because he made no move to argue. Instead, he led the way back into the den. Going over to the bookshelf, he pulled an old tome that was hidden between the complete works of William Shakespeare and the Oxford English Dictionary. The moment he sat down, Lydia settled herself behind him, her body molded against his side. The warmth of her body drove him half-mad with desire; he steeled himself against his baser urges and focused on the text. "This book has been passed down in my family for generations." He smiled, "The oldest surviving Hale is the keeper of the information. Derek's never even seen this…" Per his family's code, he wasn't supposed to show it to her either…but he needed her more than he needed his next breath. Losing her to the madness of her curse was simply not an option.

Lydia's vibrant eyes swept over the weathered pages. It was bound inhand stretched leather and the thread appeared to be woven. Clearly this book was centuries old although perfectly preserved. As he carefully pressed the pages down, she cleared her throat, "There's a lot more out there than we even realize, isn't there?"

Peter nodded slowly, "More than you ever want to know, Lydia." There were enough supernatural creatures written upon these pages to fuel a lifetime's worth of nightmares. Thumbing through the book a bit quicker, he stopped when he reached the page on banshees. The illustration was of a grey-faced woman with long red hair, her mouth open in a silent scream. "The legend of the banshee originated in Ireland but every culture has their own version of the wailing woman.  _La Llorona_ ,  _Pontianak_ ,  _Mulher de Branco_ , they're all variations on the banshee." He peered over at her, "What's interesting is that the myth of werewolves starts almost three hundred years after the first reports of banshees. Your kind are believed to be the original supernatural creatures, around even before druids and darachs."

"That  _is_  a fun fact," Lydia nudged Peter playfully as she gazed back down at the book. "Does it say anything about controlling my power?" Squinting at the page, she licked her lips, "What language is this? I am a master of archaic and traditional Latin, French, Gaelic, Old English, Spanish, Greek, and Mandarin…but I've never seen anything that looks like that."

Chuckling darkly, he slid the book closer to her. "This is a shorthand that the Hale family invented. This book is very comprehensive and includes weaknesses and ways to kill many creatures. You can understand why we'd want to keep that quiet. If word got out that we had something like this, there would be untold violence and bloodshed trying to get a hold of it." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm trusting that you won't share this with anyone…"

Lydia nodded, "You have my word, Peter. I won't tell anyone." She chewed on her bottom lip, "So about my powers? How do I control them?"

Peter's fingertips slid across the paper. He cleared his throat, "Banshees draw their power from the universe around them. You ride the line between the living and the dead. The other side is always trying to communicate with you to bring their messages across…"

"Tell me something I don't know," Lydia sighed. "I hear them all the time now. When I'm in class, when I'm trying to sleep. Sometimes it gets so overwhelming that I get swept away. The psychiatrists call it a fugue state but the truth is I get lost in the spirit realm. And it's happening more and more now…" Tears built behind her eyes before she could stop them. "I'm afraid there's going to come a point when I won't be able to come back."

Instinctively, Peter wrapped an arm around her. He drew her closer, dropping a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," He urged. "You operate on a different plane of frequencies and by creating sound waves you can concentrate harder on a certain voice or spirit. That's why screaming focuses your power, Lydia." He explained. "From what I'm reading here, there is a way to block out the voices—"

"How!?" Lydia burst out, "Tell me how!"

Peter set the book aside, "It's much like learning to control the shift, Lydia. You need to find an anchor. Your anchor can be a person, a place, an object, a memory, a smell…anything you want it to be." He smiled, "I have some experience with this. I can help you learn to use your anchor…although I've never taught the technique to a banshee before."

"Allison was Scott's anchor. I heard him say that once…" Lydia tucked her hair behind her ear. "What's your anchor?"

Shifting slightly, Peter looked away, "An anchor is a very personal thing, Lydia. I—"

"I didn't mean to pry," Lydia replied apologetically. "Forget I said anything."

"No," Peter said softly, "I'm happy to share it with you. You just shouldn't go around asking people what their anchor is." Gently, he extended his claws, ready and willing to share the memory with her, "May I?"

Nervously, Lydia peered at the claws but when she noted the earnest expression on Peter's face, she nodded. His warm hand slid up her neck, gooseflesh erupting over her skin. The razor sharp bite of his nails caused her to gasp as she was hurled back into Peter's memory. A soft fog rose over the ground, shrouding the world in mist. She could hardly see but she could hear the sharp peals of laughter through the trees. It grew closer until a young girl burst through the brush with a small boy just a few steps behind. His legs were a fair bit shorter than hers and he couldn't quite keep up. That certainly didn't stop him from trying. "Talia!" He whined, "Wait up!"

"Last one there is a rotten egg!" Talia taunted, picking up speed as they entered the clearing. The little boy squealed angrily, threatening to tell their mother about her leaving him behind. That certainly didn't stop her. The sun was dipping closer to the horizon as they came to a tree that was millennia old with a tire swing tied to its majestic branches. Talia took a running leap onto it, laughing happily. "I win! I win!" The dark haired boy stomped his foot angrily, his vibrant blue eyes watered with tears. She softened immediately, "Okay, okay! If you're going to be a baby about it, you can go first, Peter…"

Peter was a master manipulator from a young age. As soon as Talia offered, his tears were dry and his face glowed with happiness. Jumping on the swing, he screeched with laughter as she pushed him until he was dizzy. Afterward, he did the same for her. They chased and laughed and teased one another until a sharp whistle blew in the distance, calling them home for supper.

Peter released Lydia gently, holding her shoulders so she would not slump down. Lydia grasped his hand. Her eyes were wet with tears again even as she smiled, "That is quite possibly the sweetest thing I've ever seen…" Lydia buried her face against Peter's shoulder.

Peter pulled Lydia into his lap and held her tightly. He tenderly brushed her strawberry blonde hair away from her neck. "What's the matter, Lydia?" He hated seeing her this way. Lydia Martin was a force to be reckoned with and always had been. "That was a happy memory…the happiest one that I have."

"I know," Lydia's voice cracked painfully. "It was a beautiful memory, Peter. I can see why it's your anchor…" She swallowed hard, "But then I was reminded of all the horror I felt when I was reading the memories in Talia's claws. The pain and the anguish that she suffered at the end, dying in that fire." Her chest ached. "I never told you this but Talia's last thoughts were of you and Derek. She screamed not because of the pain but because she didn't want the rest of her family hurt…she regretted the fact that she didn't listen to you about the hunters."

Tightening his grasp, Peter felt his heart tighten. He and Talia did not have the closest relationship near the end of her life. She was so angry at his behavior; she called him a bad influence on Derek and Cora. She had even considered banishing him from their clan. Yet the one thing Peter never doubted was the fact that Talia loved him. He never once contemplated killing his sister for her alpha powers, even though he knew he could have done so easily. Hearing Talia wanted him to live ripped open festering wounds he thought had long healed. Exhaling sharply, he rested his head against hers, "Every time I think I'm past the fire, it comes back to haunt me…" It had driven him to the edge. In his madness, he'd descended into darkness and the rest was history.

Lydia fisted her hands in the lapels of his shirt. She closed her eyes, "I'm sorry, Peter. I wish I could make it better…"

"You make it better just by being here," Peter murmured. Lydia was his salvation. Without her sassiness and her determination to call him out on his behavior, he would be lost. Whenever he felt like straying down a path of darkness, he remembered that he wanted more out of life than to be the big bad wolf. Inhaling the soft scent of her mingled with his soap that she'd used to wash, he felt the hurt begin to fade. When Lydia was in his arms, it all felt okay.

They sat there for an inordinate amount of time. Peter wasn't sure how long it took but Lydia fell asleep in his arms. Her heartbeat was steady, no spikes or skips, her breathing was soft and even, and her head lolled onto his shoulder. He took painstaking care not to jostle her, he gathered her up and lifted her. Ascending the stairs one at a time, he pulled back the covers of his bed and she let out a soft sigh of pleasure in her sleep. Lydia needed her sleep and Peter knew it. Pulling the blanket around her, he pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

Stopping in the doorway, Peter let out a shaky breath. Lydia Martin was his equal in every way. They were two halves of a perfect circle; they were simply waiting for that spark to fuse them together for good. He expected it to take years for her to realize that he was the missing piece in her life…but if today showed him anything it was that Lydia trusted him and he comforted her. In turn, she soothed the raging ache inside him and made him feel like he was worth something. It was the start of something so much more…

While Lydia napped, Peter busied himself with mundane chores. He started laundry, rearranged the fridge, and read the newspaper. It was early evening before he heard her start to stir. It took her a few minutes to make her way downstairs but his heart twisted at the sight of her, mussed from sleep. "How are you feeling, Sleeping Beauty?"

"I think you mean Snow White," Lydia chuckled, "I slept like the dead." Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she settled beside Peter again. "That's the best sleep I've gotten in…years, I think." She yawned again, dragging her legs beneath her once more. Peering over at Peter, Lydia suddenly realized that she'd found her anchor. It was Peter.

Peter who slipped so easily into her dreams, Peter who had set this all in motion…he also gave her the power to control it. The news was equal parts alarming and exciting. She had controlled it for…six whole hours. "I want to thank you for all your help today. I've learned a lot…but I fear I've overstayed my welcome." She cleared her throat, "I left my cellphone at home. I'm fairly sure that Scott and the pack are convinced I'm either on a spirit quest or lying in a ditch somewhere…" Another few hours without contact and Scott would try and pick up her scent. The last thing she wanted was her quiet reprieve being shattered by the arrival of Kira, Stiles, Scott, and Malia wondering why she was in Peter's home, dressed in his boxers and t-shirt, and wickedly rumpled. "Besides, my mother is probably home by now and wondering where I've gone."

Peter didn't want to let Lydia go…but he knew that he had to, because he loved her. "Let me get you something a little bit warmer to wear." He headed upstairs and returned a few minutes later with a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He didn't wear them often but they were fresh from the wash. Lydia slipped them on, reveling in the warmth of being wrapped in his scent.

Once she had changed, she met Peter at his bike. The rain was still drizzling over them but the cold didn't touch her when she had Peter in her arms. There was an aching sense of loss as they reached the edge of the woods and wove their way down the streets of Beacon Hills. They passed through the town center and then by the cemetery where he'd picked her up this morning. Peter took it slow as they maneuvered down her street. Stopping a few houses down, he accepted the helmet from her. "Lydia…" He said softly, catching her hand as she walked past. He pressed a small container into her hand, "My home is your home. Any time you need to get away, you don't even need to ask."

Lydia felt her heart tighten. She nodded but could not force the words out. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him softly and slowly. Her heart kicked up as she leaned into him, "Thank you…" She whispered. She forced herself to turn away before she got back on his motorcycle and never looked back again. The wet asphalt was icy beneath her feet and she hurried into the house. Walking past her mother without another word, Lydia went straight to her room. Setting the small container down, she tried to figure out why it was so lopsided. Peter had given her the leftover hash browns…but taped to the bottom was a silver key. He had given her the key to his house. Gripping the metal tightly in her hand, she held it close to her chest.

Digging through her jewelry box, she found a chain and gently slipped it on before clasping it around her neck. Peter's house key would remain close to her heart…forever and always. Settling down on the bed, Lydia grabbed her phone. There were over forty missed calls and texts but she would deal with that later. She heated up her hash browns and ate them before she attempted to do some homework. The work was so mind-numbingly easy she couldn't stand it. Chewing on her bottom lip, Lydia grabbed her phone and shoved it into her bag along with the first change of clothes she could find. "Mom, I'm going out!" Without waiting for a response, she ran outside into the driving rain and slipped into the car.

Peter was sitting quietly in the den, unsure of what to do when he heard the car pull up the drive. His heart leapt into his chest as Lydia unlocked the front door and came hurtling inside. "Thank God…" Rushing to greet her, he caught her as she leapt into his arms. Kissing her hard, he kicked the door closed as he carried her up to bed. Lydia dragged her clothing off, baring herself to him instantly. "I couldn't stand it, Peter…I need you. It's you…" She kissed him hard, slipping her hands up the hard plane of his chest, "You're my anchor."

Peter was naked in a flash, pressing her against the mattress. His heart leapt in his chest as he pressed kisses down the curve of her throat. "I will always be here for you. I'm all yours, Lydia. Whenever, wherever, I don't care…" He vowed. He would spend the rest of his days at her side and he would do anything to protect her. Making love to her cemented that promise once and for all. As he slipped into the core of her, moving to the rhythm of her heartbeat, Peter was well aware that he didn't just spill his seed within her womb, he left his mark on her heart.

After Lydia came down from the most intense high of her life, she remained wrapped in Peter's arms. She felt languid and fulfilled, not to mention happier than she'd felt in as long as she could remember. It would not be an easy road taking Peter as a lover and as a mate. Scott would never understand it, let alone Stiles…and Malia would need to be told about their relationship very gently. On the other hand, Lydia knew that she would never survive without Peter. She needed him just as deeply as he needed her. Closing her eyes, she pressed one last kiss to his lips before cuddling against his chest.

Peter marveled at the love shimmering in her eyes. He wrapped his arms tight around her. Laying back in bed, he smiled as the moon began to rise behind the thick cloud cover. Lydia was his forever…and it seemed like forever was happening sooner than he could ever have hoped. Closing his eyes tightly, there was a calm that spread over him as he cradled his future bride in his arms. Peter fell asleep with a smile on his lips. Lydia Hale had a nice ring to it.


End file.
